


The Adventure Of The Fatal Bequest (1878)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [20]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Theft, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 10:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10534197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Case 13: Unlucky for some; this small and seemingly unimportant case was to have some unpleasant longer-term consequences for Watson's friendship with his windblown friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FelPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelPendragon/gifts), [Sabris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabris/gifts).



> Mentioned elsewhere as 'the Margate case, where a woman did not powder her nose'.

It may seem surprising, in view of the later developments arising from it, that our next case from our new home in Cramer Street was not included in the original sixty stories of my friend's great work. However, the lady who brought the case to our attention was, rightly I suspect, fearful that any further iteration of the events on the Thanet Coast that cold December day might lead to people wishing to visit the house in which the murder had taken place. Even had she not had the relationship she did have with my friend, I would have respected her wish for privacy. Now that she has passed on to a better place, I can reveal to the world the strange case of the the un-powdered nose.

+~+~+

I was returning to our rooms one day in early December, feeling bitterly cold despite my coat. I really needed a new one, but as usual my straitened finances meant that it would have to wait. I was still mulling over my most recent (and depressing) bank statement when I walked through the door and unbuttoned my coat. To my surprise there was a small sprig of mistletoe over the door.

“It was worth putting it there to see poor Miss Hellingly's face”, Holmes chuckled from his chair. “She looked as if she might need your professional services!”

I smiled at that.

“Are you expecting someone?” I asked. He had made his usual half-hearted attempt to tidy up the disaster area that was his side of the room, which rare event usually presaged the arrival of someone or other.

“Doctor John Watson, the great detective!” he teased. “Yes, I am expecting a lady visitor. A client, and a rare family friend.”

“Who is coming?” I asked.

“A Mrs. Olivia Fulready”, he sais. “She is the sister to the midwife who delivered me into this world of sorrows, a Mrs. Bethania Garsdale. Mrs. Fulready wrote and asked to come and see me whilst she was in London; I presume that her sister's recent death is the reason.”

“She wishes to consult you over the death?” I asked. “A suspicious one?”

“It may be so”, he conceded. “She is due in about ten minutes, so I will use that time to brief you about what little I know of her.”

+~+~+

Sure enough, some ten minutes later Mrs. Olivia Fulready was shown into our room. Holmes had told me that her husband had died some years back, and that she owned a fair-sized house on the sea-front at Margate in Kent, where she usually rented out several rooms. In the summer season her late sister Mrs. Garsdale would move in with her and rent her own house out to holidaymakers, sharing the income generated. 

Mrs. Fulready carefully took her seat and pulled back her veil.

“I have come to you today”, she said in a low, melodious voice, “because of my sister's murder.”

I started. Holmes, of course, remained calm.

“The London papers have been mostly interested in this latest Afghan war”, he said smoothly. “Of course, I read the report of your sister's death. I can only say that it struck me as singularly uninformative, and did not mention any killing or suspicious circumstance. Am I to assume that some detail or other was deliberately withheld?”

She nodded, looking around fearfully almost as if she feared someone might be listening in on our conversation.

“It was incredibly strange”, she said. “Fortunately Sergeant Dornott was very helpful, and made sure that certain... information did not reach the press. He felt that if they knew the full details, people would descend on the house even more. A murder is bad enough, but this.....”

She tailed off. Holmes poured her a cup of tea and handed it to her, then placed a reassuring hand on her free wrist.

“Be assured, Mrs. Fulready, that we will do everything in our power to help you”, he said firmly. “First however, we need all the facts. What did the press not get told, exactly?”

She took a deep breath before speaking.

“I was the one who found her”, she said quickly, as If getting the words out faster was less painful. “Beth, you see, had taken up with the local theatre group; an odd bunch, but harmless, I thought. I was going to go into town to do some shopping, and she was to share my cab and then walk the short distance to the theatre. Except when I went in to collect her.... she was dead! Strangled!”

“And the unusual circumstance?” Holmes pressed gently. She shuddered.

“She had done her face up with that awful white powder she used for the play, or whatever they were doing”, our visitor said. “Her face was white, except for her nose, which was not done. I thought that very odd. And then, it hit me! He might still be in the house!”

“'He'?” I asked, confused.

“The killer!” she hissed.

Holmes pressed his fingers together and thought for a moment.

“I have several questions which I hope that you can answer”, he said. “First, was it raining that day?”

She looked surprised at that, as was I, but answered readily enough.

“Yes”, she said. “Almost sleet; I got quite wet running from the cab to the house. But why is that important?”

“I find it odd that your sister would apply face-powder, let alone leaving her nose undone, and then walk through rain”, Holmes said. “Surely she must have realized that when she applied it? It seems irrational, and I do not like irrational. Another question, if you please, and I must be a little blunt. Was your sister wealthy?”

Our visitor blushed.

“She owned her house and made ends meet”, she said carefully.

Holmes sighed.

“Come, Mrs. Fulready”, he said gently. “I can only help you if you are completely honest with me. What are you not telling me?”

She looked down at the rug.

“After she assisted at your birth”, she said slowly, “she went to work for the Huttons up in Yorkshire. A lovely family, their youngest needed constant care or some such thing. She was there for nearly fifteen years before the break-in.”

“Break-in?” Holmes asked.

“The Hutton Diamonds”, she said softly. “She was incredibly lucky that it happened on her half-day, or she would have been killed along with the rest of them.

I remembered that story now, from the start of the decade. A gang of thieves had broken into the old house, and killed the entire family. Although they had been later caught and hung, the diamonds had never been found. 

“You are not suggesting that your sister was in any way involved?” I asked incredulously. She shook her head.

“Beth was as shocked as I was by the whole affair”, she said. “You may remember that the killers persuaded a local lad who worked at the stables to let them in, and he got hard labour as a result. No, all she had from fifteen years of loyal service was that hideously ugly set of jugs she always displayed so proudly on her mantle-piece.”

Holmes looked up sharply.

“Jugs?” he said a little too loudly. “What sort of jugs?”

She looked surprised at his reaction, but answered.

“A set of toby-jugs, each of a famous author”, she said. “William Shakespeare was the only one I recognized by sight, although I think that each had the name of the person they were meant to be engraved in the front. I never went close enough to see; they were horrible!”

“We must go there at once”, Holmes said firmly, much to my surprise. “Mrs. Fulready, what are your plans for the rest of today?”

“I have an appointment with the lawyers in Whitehall”, she said. “I was going to stay with a friend and take in a show, but if you think...”

“It is probably best for you to continue with those plans”, Holmes said, a little more calmly. “The doctor and I will travel to Margate by the first available train; if you leave us your address, we will meet you on your return there this evening.”

She nodded at that, thanked him and left. 

+~+~+

Sergeant Henriksen looked at us from across his desk. Even with my limited (as in virtually non-existent) detective skills, I could see that Holmes' mention of the Hutton Diamonds had sparked something.

“Many of us remember that bloody farrago!” he said, sounding surprisingly bitter. “The local press tried to fix the blame on the village constable, who was seeing one of the maids in the house. Eventually of course we got the right man, but they didn't help, the bastards. What is your interest in the case?”

“The missing diamonds”, Holmes said calmly. “Something that has crossed my path suggests as to where they may have been hidden. What can you tell me about the aftermath of the case?”

The sergeant scratched his bald head, I wondered privately if he polished it; the glare of the light through the window was so strong.

“Poor Constable Kellett left the force once the fuss had died down”, he said. “Went abroad somewhere; British Columbia, I think, although I did hear he did well enough for himself over there, which was good. The gang, as you know, all got the drop, and their accomplice was given hard labour. It only stayed in the press' line of fire for so long because of that God-awful Mrs. Silverman!”

“Who is she?” Holmes asked.

“The colonel's sister. She expected to inherit the whole estate, but the old buffer surprised her at the last, and his will left everything except a few family trinkets to charity. Plus there were the usual bequests to servants; small cash sums, that was all.”

“She was the one who pursued the local constable as being involved?” Holmes asked.

“She did”, the sergeant said bitterly. “Mean old cow! Funny thing was, as I recall, she did herself no favours in the end. A local reporter called round to talk to her about the case, and whilst he was there, she struck one of her own servants. The reporter's brother was in service, and he wrote the whole thing up, exposing her as the cow she was. She talked of suing the paper, but nothing came of it. I think she moved somewhere soon after, though I don't remember where. She was separated from her husband at the time, and I was not surprised in the least!”

I chuckled.

“We shall keep you informed of any developments”, Holmes promised. “Thank you for your help, Henriksen.”

+~+~+

I was not looking forward to our train journey that day, because at the time, railway travel in Kent was surely amongst the worst in the country. For some years the South Eastern Railway Company had had the county to itself, but the previous decade a miscalculation on their part had allowed the rival East Kent Railway (now the London, Chatham and Dover Railway) to build a second route to Dover, as well as a much more direct one to the Thanet towns. The unfortunate consequence had been a building war, and trains of such poor quality that the London papers advised against all but essential travel in the county. Thus it was with some trepidation that I alighted from our cab at Victoria Station, even though Holmes insisted on our travelling first-class.

Fortunately our journey was accomplished without incident and in relative comfort. Arriving in the town, we made our way first to Margate police station, where we found a Constable Truelove, a young and athletic-looking blond fellow of about thirty years of age. 

“You'd be the second lot of folks we've had showing an interest in the case today”, he said, clearly surprised. “Never rains but it pours!”

Holmes looked at me in concern.

“And who was the first?” he asked the constable.

“Some sharp-eyed woman wearing a real fur”, he said. “Claimed to be a 'Mrs. Argent' and the late Mrs. Garsdale's sister, but I'm pretty sure that she only had the one, and that's Mrs. Fulready.”

“When was this?” Holmes asked, looking anxious.

“A few hours ago”, the constable said. “Sergeant Dornott said he'd take her round there, but he came back a couple of hours later. Apparently Mrs. F. had gone to London for the day.”

“We need to see the house at once”, Holmes said urgently.

“I'll get Fred – Constable Golding – to take you there”, Constable Truelove said. “Sergeant Henriksen wired from London about you, so I know you're all right.”

He called through a door to the back and another blond young athlete, looking uncannily like the first constable, emerged and smiled at us. We waited by the door for the new constable to fetch the keys.

“Watson”, Holmes whispered, “did you bring your gun?”

“Yes”, I whispered back. Ever since the Khrushnic case, I had taken to being armed on all our little adventures. “Do you think that I will need it?”

We were interrupted by the returning Constable Golding, who had a frown on his face.

“The sergeant must still have them”, he said. “We cannot....”

“How far away is the house?” Holmes interrupted. 

“About ten minutes' walk, sir. Why?”

Holmes did not answer, but almost ran out of the door. By the time the two of us had caught him up, he had already secured a cab and was clambering inside it.

“Hurry!” he called out.

I thought a cab ride for a half-mile journey was something of an indulgence, but did not have time to comment, for Holmes was busy extracting an address from the constable, which he presumably gave to the cab-driver judging from our sudden movement. At least it was not London, so the traffic allowed us to quickly build up speed.

“Constable”, Holmes said urgently, “when we reach our destination, I am probably going to have to ask you to do something that you will consider improper. It is imperative, for both your life and your future career in the police service, that you do _exactly_ what I say, no matter how strange it may seem. Do you understand?”

“But sir...?”

“Do you understand?”

Holmes could be commanding to people when the need arose. The young constable buckled at once.

“Yes sir”, he said firmly.

“Good man”, Holmes said. “Because we are almost there.”

The cab came to a halt just seconds later, and Holmes was first out, the two of us scrambling out after him. I looked around in confusion.

“This is not the Esplanade”, I said.

“No”, Holmes said. “It is not the late Mrs. Garsdale's house that we need; it is Mrs. Fulready's. And we need to be quick!”

He hurried up the garden path, and paused to look at the front door, which was closed. I was about to ask if he needed our help when he pulled something from his pocket that looked like a sort of screwdriver, and did something with the lock. The door opened at once, and he hurried inside, the two of us close behind him and my hand on my weapon inside my pocket.

As with so many houses of the type, the door opened into a long hallway, and we were not alone for long. Two people emerged almost simultaneously, a well-dressed woman from a door to the left and a man much closer, from a door to our right. Constable Golding gasped.

“Sarge?”

“What are you doing here, Fred?” his superior asked. “And who are these men?”

“We are friends of Mrs. Fulready's”, Holmes said smoothly, “and you, Sergeant Dornott, are under arrest. Constable, cuff him.”

I have to credit the young constable that, amazingly, he did what Holmes told him without a single protest. The sergeant was shocked, only spinning out of his grip once the handcuffs were secure.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded angrily. “I'll have you sacked!”

“I rather think that that will be your fate”, Holmes said with a smile. “And Mrs. Silverman, that dress looks very expensive. It would be shame if the good doctor here had to put a bullet into it because you continued your sidling towards the rear exit. Constable?”

The constable strode forward and cuffed the lady as well. She was in her fifties, with very obviously dyed hair and a sharp, unpleasant expression.

“You've got nothing on us!” she hissed.

“On the contrary” Holmes smiled pleasantly. “I have two criminals, and I am fairly sure that I know the whereabouts of the Hutton Diamonds. The two of you can look forward to an uncomfortable night in the police cells, and when Mrs. Fulready returns this evening, we shall see what we shall see.”

+~+~+

It was later the same day. Holmes had wired Mrs. Fulready as to developments, and she had replied as to what train she would be returning on. She arrived at the house at half-past seven, and Holmes insisted on ordering in dinner for the three of us and the two constables (who did not object at all, I noticed!) before he would explain everything. I noticed that he had lined up the set of toby-jugs on the window-sill, and thought that if anything, our client had understated their sheer awfulness. I would not have given tuppence for the whole set.

“Now”, Holmes began, “this case all started with the Hutton Diamond robbery, and we all know about that. Except that what we know is not the whole story.”

“Eh?” Constable Truelove said.

“It was originally assumed, especially by the Yorkshire press, that the local police constable was involved in allowing the killers to gain access to the property”, Holmes said. “This, as we know, turned out not to be the case. However, the second person who came under suspicion, a local lad of limited intelligence, was also innocent. Unfortunately someone took advantage of that lack of intelligence and made sure that the evidence pointed squarely at him. That someone was Mrs. Naomi Silverman.”

“How can you know that?” I asked.

“The timings”, he said. “Her husband had left her just before the robbery, so she was financially desperate. She was the only surviving blood relative of Colonel Hutton, so she assumed – wrongly, as it turned out – that if he and his children died, she would inherit all. I am not usually vindictive, but I would love to have been there when that will was read, and she realized that she was getting absolutely nothing!”

I chuckled at that. The others smiled too.

“However”, Holmes went on, “there was the matter of the famous Hutton Diamonds. It was believed by the press that one of the thieves had hidden them somewhere, and that knowledge of their whereabouts went with him to his grave.”

“Did they not?” Mrs. Fulready asked.

“Yes and no.”

We all stared at him.

“”The late Mrs. Hutton was no fool”, Holmes smiled. “She suspected that some sort of attempt might be made on the jewels one day, though sadly she did not foresee that it would cost her not just her own life, but those of her entire family. So she did what so many people do in such circumstances. She had a set of fake diamonds made and made a great show of locking them away securely. The real diamonds, she hid somewhere quite ingenious. Only two other people knew of their whereabouts.”

“Two?” I asked.

“Her husband, the colonel, and the woman who was her most reliable servant, the late Mrs. Bethania Garsdale.”

“Where are they?” Constable Truelove asked.

Holmes smiled.

“Let me continue with the story for the moment”, he said. “I do not know how, but Mrs. Silverman realized something of what had been done. Presumably one of the criminals who took the fakes realized what they were, and before he was hung told a fellow inmate, who then sought out Mrs. Silverman on his own release and offered to 'share the loot' for his knowledge. She therefore knew that the items must be in Mrs. Garsdale's possession, though not exactly where.”

“She tracks down her quarry, and waits her chance to strike. However, on the day in question, it chances that her victim sees her coming up the path to the house. She knows that she is doomed, so her thought is to leave some sort of clue as to the whereabouts of the diamonds, a clue that will hopefully be uncovered by someone other than her killer.”

“When Mrs. Fulready told me about the collection of toby-jugs based on famous authors, I at once saw the connection. If I was right, then one of them should be of the French author Cyrano de Bergerac, whose works I have to say I utterly and completely abhor. Upon checking the jugs after the arrests of the two criminals, I found that that was indeed the case.”

“What about the sergeant?” Constable Golding put in.

“I believe that Mrs. Garsdale took him to the house then offered to, again, 'split the loot' with him once it was found”, Holmes said.

“But what about the other criminal?” I asked.

“Most probably buried somewhere in Mrs. Silverman's garden”, Holmes said dryly. “I suspected the sergeant because of the distances involved; it was ten minutes' walk from the police station to either house, yet you, Constable Truelove, told us that the sergeant was gone for two hours. He was helping her search, and returned there after formally ending his shift that day.”

I shuddered. A criminal policeman! Then Holmes picked up the toby-jug of Cyrano de Bergerac, and I finally saw it.

“Of course!” I groaned. “The nose!”

Holmes smiled at me.

“Exactly”, he said. “ _That_ was the message that Mrs. Garsdale left us. By powdering her whole face except for her nose, she was saying that noses were important. And which of the authors portrayed in these hideous pieces of pottery has the largest proboscis?”

He picked up the toby-jug and worked loose the small pad in the bottom, shaking out the contents inside. At first nothing emerged, but some poking with his finger extracted first some cotton padding, and then a whole slew of brilliant clear gemstones that sparked in the weak December sun. We all stared at them, aghast.”

“I am sure, constables, that it would only be right and proper for you to inform Mrs. Silverman of our find”, Holmes said with a smirk. “And you might also contact her home constabulary, and ask them to check round her garden for any recently dug-over areas. Who knows what they may find therein?”

+~+~+

Holmes was of course proven right, and the recently-released Mr. Jack Burnside was found under a flower-bed in Mrs. Silverman's garden. She was later hung for her crime, whilst the sergeant was thrown out of the police force and spent several years doing hard labour, after which he thankfully quitted the country. Holmes secured a pardon for the poor simpleton who had been wrongly jailed, and as his reward asked that a fund be set up so the boy could live his life somewhere safe and happy. As the diamonds were legally part of the late Colonel Hutton's estate, they were sold and the money passed to the charities that he had left the rest of his estate to, although they agreed that one should be made into a diamond pendant for the lady who had been instrumental in finding them.

I could not know at the time, of course, but Mrs. Fulready had also been left one particular piece of information by her late sister, which would prove instrumental in changing my own life. For the worse.

+~+~+

In our next case together, there are seven wives and a number of brothers.


End file.
